Earliest memories, part 2

I had put off writing Part Two of my childhood memories in my former Seang Tek Road home for far too long, I wrote Part One in September last year but never had the urge to continue beyond that story. But about them, I must write or else memories will fade into nothingness. So these are more memories to share regarding the toys in my arsenal. 

How could I forget the inflatable paper balls? Every child, it seemed, had one, or desperately wanted one. They were a staple part of childhood, a simple joy that brought hours of fun. These weren't fancy, store-bought toys. No, these were often found in the chai tiam mah, roadside vendors or given out as party favours. They came flat, a disc of brightly coloured, patterned paper, a kaleidoscope of hues and designs. And somewhere, a small hole. The magic happened when one blows into that tiny opening. As a small boy, my cheeks puffed out, and I'd blow and blow. Slowly, the flat disc gets inflated into a sphere, a lightweight, bouncy ball ready for action. And sometimes, if a ball had been previously inflated and deflated, I didn't even need to blow; Continuous sharp hits upwards with the palm would somehow trap air inside, and it would inflate like magic! The beauty of these balls was in their simplicity. They were light enough to be batted around indoors without breaking anything, yet sturdy enough for gentle outdoor play. They provided endless amusement during my solitary childhood. 

Train sets, much like those inflatable paper balls, hold a special place in my childhood memories. Mine was a basic one with a circular track, the pieces easily taken apart. The train itself was battery-powered. I think two batteries were required, and that taught me me how to insert them in so that the end of the first battery should touch the positive end of the second or else the train wouldn't work. So I'd place the train on the track, connect up the metal carriages, two or three or them, and slide the switch to connect the battery power, and it was time for the train to roll. There's something inherently captivating about these miniature worlds, the rhythmic chugging of the engine, the clickety-clack of the wheels on the track and the sense of journey and adventure they evoke. This fascination has stayed with me in real life, and I marvel at the videos of train journeys that appear on my YouTube and facebook subscriptions. 

And then there were my toy building blocks. A mere 20 pieces, yet they held a multitude of imagination. Each one was a cube, six faces in all, and every face formed part of a picture. I could arrange all of them in a correct alignment, and like a child's version of a Rubik's Cube, they would form a complete picture. Not just one picture, but six! Six different scenes, each one a satisfaction waiting to be revealed. Having spent hours with those blocks, I knew the pictures by heart. Yet the act of creation, of turning those jumbled squares into a recognisable image, absorbed me. The way a simple twist, a different arrangement, could bring a whole new world into being. But I never owned jigsaw puzzles, at least not complete sets. There were too many tiny pieces going missing, a casualty of childhood chaos. But with my 20 building blocks, there was a sense of control, a manageable challenge and the certainty of a satisfying conclusion. 

Of course, no reflection on childhood toys would be complete without the humble yo-yo. My earliest yo-yos were plain plastic discs with a string attached, purchased from the same chai tiam mah above. They were nothing fancy. They didn’t spin for long, and they certainly weren’t built for tricks. But they did what they were supposed to do: I’d throw them down and they’d roll back up into my hand almost every time. That basic up-and-down motion was enough to amuse me. Back then, I didn’t know walking the dog from around the world. Those were tricks done by kids with flashy yo-yos that glowed or whistled or spun forever. But mine in their simplicity, were fun. There was something oddly satisfying about the rhythm of the yo-yo—its pull, its spin, its return. It was only much later in life that I owned a much proper yo-yo: a Coca-Cola-branded one. Red plastic, solid and shiny, with the Coca-Cola logo printed on the side. That yo-yo felt like a badge of status. It spun longer and smoother than anything I had before, and for a brief time I imagined I’d finally start learning all those clever tricks. But alas, time passed and somewhere along the way, that prized yo-yo went missing. I wish I’d held on to it, but such is life. Some toys stay with us only as memories.

Then there were the cap guns. A small metal toy gun that took those red rolls of caps which are thin strips of paper with tiny dots of gunpowder spaced evenly along the length. I remember feeding the roll into the chamber, pull the trigger and bang! I didn’t need much imagination to feel like playing cowboys or policemen. But even simpler were the DIY versions of cap guns made out of a piece of paper folded into the shape of a triangle. With one swift flick of the arm, the folded triangle snap open and crack! I think they are known as paper bangers. If you can’t fold one properly or failed to get a loud pop, you hadn’t quite earned your stripes in the playground. Kids today wouldn't know what the paper bangers are about now.

And finally, I want to mention the bubble blowers: those little bottles of magic solution with a plastic wand inside. Dip the wand, pull it out and with one long breath, send a shimmering orb floating into the air. All of them brought joy, every breath becoming a floating world for a few seconds. It didn’t take much, just a bit of soapy liquid, a breeze and a child's heart. Of all the toys from those days, the bubble blower might’ve been the most poetic. Each bubble a moment suspended in air and gone too soon. Then there were the plastic balloons. A small tube from the sundry shop, pop the cap, pierce the foil seal and squeeze out a bit of gooey plastic onto a narrow straw. The soft blob then inflated with a puff of breath to form a balloon. I could pop it with my mouth, make it shrink or blow it bigger until it burst and splattered my face. Simple, messy and endlessly fun. Another one of those small, unforgettable joys of childhood.